Bipolar Disorder is a trip. Like for real. One season you’re flying sky high with a view of the world more beautiful than a Cayman Islands’ sunset. The next season you’re deep in a jungle where the sun can’t penetrate, covered in darkness trying to find your way out. It’s demanding. It’s aggressive. It can be downright defiant. And, it’s beyond lonely.
My last episode of mania lasted for three years. I was undiagnosed, unbalanced and unhinged.
At the height of this ordeal, I was working 10–11 hours a day and sleeping for only 12 hours a week.
My mania also caused me to be reckless with my finances and I once blew $23,000 … in three days.
In my work in digital marketing and PR, I’d hit the office for the majority of the day working on corporate clients’ campaigns, and then meet my entertainment clients in the evenings for meetings, press events, and time in the studio.
I made things happen. I was fearless. I was reliable. You called me because I could always solve the problem.
The work was exciting and at times glamorous. I’ve rubbed shoulders at entertainment events and red carpets with A-listers including J.Lo, DJ Khalid, Jason Derulo, and Sir Elton John. I’ve dined with media moguls, top television executives, and Olympic athletes.
I had two to three vacations a year from yachting on the Mediterranean Sea to sipping champagne in Monte Carlo to drinking cocktails on a tropical island.
And, then I crashed — HARD.
I could barely get up in the morning — my “go” had got up and gone. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t remember what I was doing from one minute to the next. I started to second-guess myself in my work. My confidence plummeted and self-deprecating thoughts took over with the volume on blast.
I felt guilty that I couldn’t put in the hours I was accustomed to. I felt guilty that I couldn’t perform. I felt guilty that I couldn’t bring myself to go to these lavish press events. I felt guilty that I didn’t call my friends back. I felt guilty that I couldn’t sleep. And, then I felt guilty that I could no longer work.
Before my last business trip to Chicago — the trip that ended the life I knew — I’d gone to my doctor for help. I was at the end of my tether. Unfortunately, I was misdiagnosed and prescribed medication that only pushed my mania into complete free fall.
I made the trip to Chicago. I was there, but I wasn’t present.
I’d finished the day’s meetings which I’d barely got through because I could hardly bring myself to talk and I had next to no energy. I’d dragged myself back to my posh hotel room and sat down on the edge of the bed feeling like I was going to fall over and die.
Death. Yes, that seemed like a really good idea. I’d no longer have to pretend I was OK. I no longer had to mask my despair by amplifying my already naturally cheery personality. I could just make it all stop.
I started Googling all the bridges in downtown Chicago to see which one was the highest. I was extremely distraught because these suicidal thoughts went against my foundational Christian beliefs. When I hit the water and died would I really wind up in a burning hell? Did God love me enough to let me go to heaven despite taking my own life? This final act would deny me the opportunity to repent so how could I be forgiven? I was anguished.
Suddenly, a voice deep inside me started to remind me of how I’d always had to fight for my life. Yes, sometimes I failed but more times than not I won. I remembered how I survived Indigenous tribal displacement, traumatic child abuse, sexual assault, and domestic violence.
I’d navigated a successful career largely as the only black woman (and the only black person) at the C-suite table. I was reminded of the people I love and the people who love me. I needed to fight. I was down but I wasn’t out.
I called a mental health crisis helpline. That God-given angel I spoke with saved my life. She talked me down from the ledge. To this day, I can’t remember her name. But, I thank God for her every day and I pray that she has so many blessings that she cannot contain them. I pray that her cup truly runneth over.
When I returned home, my life went spectacularly down the toilet. I mean a blocked drain where the plunger doesn’t help and you need a plumber but you can’t afford one. I couldn’t work — I lost my clients, I lost my income, I lost my marriage, I lost my social circle, and my dignity and self-esteem.
I couldn’t explain my behavior because I didn’t know why or what was causing it. My mother thought I was on drugs. I hid and wouldn’t leave the house. Who was I, and what had I become? Everyday was a hideous chore and a reminder of my failures. I desperately needed help and had no one to advocate for me.
Fast forward nine months later. I did manage to find the right help and diagnosis via a family therapist who referred me to a psychiatrist. I now have a beautiful medical team who help me in my treatment of Bipolar Disorder and always lift me up and champion me on.
I’m building my life back one brick at a time. It can be overwhelming at times. My life is still a story that’s being written but now with a dramatic plot twist. Finding an understanding support system has been challenging — this mental illness is so misunderstood and it’s easy for others to simply dismiss it. And, it’s still rather lonely.
As I continue to journey forward, I’ll never forget that woman sitting on the edge of the bed with her life at stake. I fought then. I fight now.
My fight might not look like what you think it should be. But, I’m winning.
I sleep at night — I win.
I can work again — I win.
I can get dressed and leave the apartment — I win.
I have a renewed vision for my next steps in life — I win.
I have restored faith — I win.
I love as hard as I can — I win.
I’m breathing and I’m still here … I win.
Bipolar Disorder is not a death sentence. If you are struggling, get help. I know it can be scary — I was scared too but there is help available tailored just for you that works. Get yourself a support system. Find someone who can advocate for you. I stand with you. You are not alone.
If you’re thinking about suicide, are worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, the Lifeline network is available 24/7 across the United States. The Lifeline is available for everyone, is free, and confidential.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1–800–273–8255
Or, chat live online at: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org
